Rekindling of Fire
by TamarawTinay
Summary: You guys must be all familiar with the episode Amnesia in the Addams Family, both in the 60s sitcom and the 90s revival. You must also be aware about the movie titled Misery. Well, let's just say this is a mixture of both - without the bashing of ankles ;)
1. CHAPTER ONE

Twenty five years of blissful marriage. It is unheard of nowadays. But Gomez Addams could proudly claim that he is only lucky man to have married such a captivating and definitely one of a kind wife, and a superb mother of their three amazingly terrible children.

While their love for each other have not waned one bit, their passion have... changed, for lack of a better word.

Gone are the days when their guests would feel embarrassed about the sudden burst of lust between the two of them. They can now last an evening without having to excuse themselves once or twice in the middle of the event, to return not less than an hour later, with Gomez adjusting his tie and Morticia having to reapply her lipstick.

Her French though, still lights a fire within him. A simple 'Oui' from Morticia Addams' lips never cease to drive her husband ablaze. Although now, it would just be a simple kiss on the back of her hand and a possessive grip on her waist, slowly snaking down to her rear.

In the evening, the phrase going to bed now plainly means going to bed. Sex is inevitable as they are still very much in love with each other. But a night or two, even a week, could pass without them having to shake the would house with their passion.

In bed, they would snuggle with each other and just talk -- how their day went by since they no long spend hours together; Gomez with his stocks and different business ventures in the morning, teaching zen yogi in the afternoon, and fencing or whatever new sport he discovered just before dinner.

After years and years of practice, Gomez reached the master level in zen yogi and he was invited to supervise two classes of young men who want to learn the sport.

He never thought that teaching zen yogi would be very tiresome, given that he tutored Wednesday's beau, Joel, as well as Pugsley and Pubert for years now. Of course, nowadays, it is just Pubert he teaches since the older boys have run off to pursue college.

Morticia, on the other hand, spends her morning tending her various plants inside the greenhouse before joining Mama in the kitchen to experiment on potions. Her plants have grown not only in size but in number as well, vines and vines of carnivorous and poisonous herbs snaking through the window sills that s few years ago, she asked Lurch to extend the conservatory, hence creating the greenhouse.

Her interest about potions is more of a necessity than a desire, because for the past seven years, she has been teaching in the local but very secret coven of witches. She made it her duty to make certain that her knowledge would always be filled to the brim, so as to not disappoint her students, who admire her deeply.

Morticia would return home in the late afternoon, when she would take a well deserved rest with cup of tea and a book to read.

This particular evening, both Morticia and Gomez are tired. The young men from his zen yogi class started practicing more advanced poses but they could hardly do it. They had to repeatedly ask Gomez to jump onto the chandelier, turn himself upside down, and hang on his legs in vain attempts to understand how it is done. He had lost count of the times a student would fall on top of him.

In the coven, Morticia did most of the job fighting the demon the young witches have summoned, because either they are too stunned and afraid to fight it or too weak to carry on the task.

She is already in her nightgown that is currently pooled around her thighs and sitting on the stool at the foot of their bed, as he clean up the wound slashed on the length of her porcelain.

"Tell me again, cara, why they summoned this demon?" Gomez asked as he pour a green liquid over the wound.

Morticia winced and watched the light smoke coming off of her leg.

"They did not mean to summon a demon, darling," she replied in a hiss due to the inexplicable pain she felt. She really should have the wound patched up before coming home. "They were summoning a man. But you know how very particular summoning spells are. One mispronunciation and 'the man of our dreams' become..."

"'Demon of our dreams.'" Gomez finished.

She nodded tiredly but jerked suddenly when he put blue chewed up leaves over the wound.

"I'm sorry, mi amor. Mama infused this with alcohol." As gentle as he could, he covered the slash with gauze and tape. His eyes were pained, as if he was the wounded one.

She noticed this and lovingly placed her hand on his cheek. She stroked him with such gentleness that his eyes relaxed, even for just a fraction.

"Gomez..." she softly said. She raised his chin, forcing him to look at her. His eyes lost all of its anger as her gazed into her obsidian ones.

He sighed and looked down.

"Forgive me, Tish. I just cannot bear to see you hurt," he whispered.

Morticia threw the hem of her nightgown over her legs and patted the space next to her on their ottoman. Gomez sat down beside her.

"Thank you, Gomez, darling," she said, kissing him on the lips.

"You could've..." he started to say, breaking away from their kiss, which surprised her. Normally, nothing could stop him from kissing her; not even a strong whack on the head by his mother during a party.

But when she saw the concern in his eyes, covering the fear he was trying so much to hide, she understood.

"Shhh... I am fine, mon cher." There, she finally said the magic words that would pacify his doubts. She knew she was being unfair to him by doing so, but she has to let him know that apart from the pain of her wound, she was unharmed.

She watched his reaction change in a nanosecond; from having this deep concern etched on his face to an animal ready to pounce.

He madly grabbed her hand and poured all of his veneration for her in a single kiss on her palm.

"Come to bed, mi amor. You need to rest." He said, restraint lacing his voice, as if he wanted to suggest otheriwise.

He stood up and before she could as well, he took her by the waist and behind the knee, carrying her to bed.

"Would you like to take the sleeping draught Mama prepared for you?"

"No, thank you, Gomez, darling," Morticia answered. She smiled slightly. "I doubt that I will be needing it."

He laughed heartily.

Of course, she woud not need to be put into anymore as her voice sounded very tired and she was doing all she could to keep her eyes open, so as not to be rude to her husband.

He pulled their black blanker over her chest. Then he leaned towards her and placed a kiss on her forhead.

"Go to sleep, cara mia."

It would take days before Morticia could finally walk without hobbling. But more days before she could wear her usual tight dress without causing her wound to chafe under the lace material.

Her students were very apologetic following the fiasco. She has received boquets of roses, boxes of chocolates filled with a good dose of cyanide, and get well cards from the young witches who summoned the blasted demon.

The council also sent her a huge box of henbane cookies with a letter commending her actions and wishing her a fast recovery, not to mention a cheque of a surprising amount as a way of thanking her for saving half a class of bubbleheaded young witches.

Although there were a lot of things that needs to be covered, as indicated in their syllabus, Morticia spent a whole session lecturing them about proper pronunciation in summoning spells or any spells for that matter, the uncertainty of summoning anything -- even as seemingly harmless as a kitten, and a much longer sermon about finding love through magic.

"What I do not understand about you young people is your penchant for instant gratification," Morticia was saying in front of the class. "You desperately desire being in a relationship so instantly that you disregard the possible effects of your actions."

A girl from the back of the class raised her hand.

"Yes, Laura?" Morticia called, raising an eyebrow. The whole class looked at the girl in surprise. She usually is the most reserved witch, but was also the one who spearheaded the summoning.

"Well, with all due respect, Mrs. Addams," Laura started hesitantly. "But we are all aware about how you and your husband got together."

The whole class held their breaths with what she just said. Of course, it was no secret that Morticia and Gomez Addams got engaged the very night they first met. It was practically just a week after that fateful night when they got married.

Their nuptials was so sudden, especially with Gomez's reputation as a serial philanderer, that it was the talk of the town for months to follow.

Morticia did not bat an eye with the young witch's comment. Instead, she smiled serenely at the fond memory of marrying her husband who, the moment they locked eyes on each other, stopped his habit of womanizing. He laid his eyes to no other woman since then.

"Oh, but I did not conjure Mr. Addams from a spell book," she countered. She was thoughtful for a moment. "Indeed it was an instant marriage, and it was unplanned, but it was a type of magic that no one has the power to bend."

"What kind of magic is that?" The curiosity of the witches were palpable.

Morticia's knowing smile widened.

"Love," was her simple reply.

The whole class groaned.

"And you girls would be fools to assume that you could conjure magic from thin air," Morticia continued. "Love is a magic on its own. Do not mess with it. It is a branch of magic that no one has ever explored, and I believe no one will ever be able to."

There was a knock on the door, surprising everyone, including Morticia.

She opened it, revealing her husband.

"Gomez, darling!" She exclaimed. She turned to the class. "Speaking of the devil himself. Girls, this is my husband, Gomez Addams."

There was a chorus of "Good morning, Mr. Addams," and "Hello, Mr. Addams," elicited from the girls.

"Excuse my a moment," she said to them before turning to her husband. "What a surprise to see you here, darling."

"I did not mean to intrude with you work, my love," Gomez said with a sheepish smile. "I was in the area, looking for the lovely swamp our agent was talking about. Then I looked at the time and realized that it was almost lunch time. I wanted to take you out."

Her heart melted for her dear husband.

"Oh, aren't you charming, darling," she replied, placing a gently hand on his cheek. "That would be lovely. I will dismiss the class a few minutes early."

A grin of success spread across his face. He took her hand from his cheek and planted a kiss on the back of it before retreating without a word, closing the door behind him.

Morticia turned to look around the room and saw the same look of longing on most girls. She could not help but feel humbled about how lucky she was to be married to such a splendid man like Gomez. He has his faults and could be childish and extremely jealous at time, but he is solely hers.

Despite her mild irritation about their unintentional summoning of the demon, she warmed up to them.

"Girls..." she began kindly. "You will find your matches the right way."

The girls did not look convinced.

Morticia had to stifle a laugh. "You are all dismissed. But before you go, I want you to ponder deeply about what I said. It would very beneficial to both your lives as witches and personal lives."

She left the room before anyone could, and Gomez was dutifully waiting for her outside it.

"Shall we?" she asked. "The cafeteria here has excellent food choices."

He smiled in response and offered his arm. "Lead the way."

"Tish, what do you have in mind for Wednesday and Pugsley's homecoming?" Gomez asked as they eat their fried bat wings at the open air section of the dilapidated cafeteria.

Every furniture there were in shambles, the tables rotting at the edges, and their chairs wobbly after being attacked by termites. They were overlooking a forlorn meadow, scattered with different kinds of plants, some poisonous, some harmless, some undecided. Nearby, young witches were sitting around a pond and playing pranks on the frogs.

The couple could not ask for a more uncomfortable spot.

"I would love to throw a party for our children," Morticia replied as she scanned the place. They were not alone, yet no one seemed to mind them. "But I doubt Wednesday would appreciate it."

Gomez nodded. "I agree. Just a family gathering then?"

"We could invite Fester and Dementia, and Margaret and Cousin Itt," she suggested.

"Let's not forget Joel's parents," he reminded, his eyes twinkling in delight.

She laughed. "If only they would accept our invitation even just once in a while."

"True," Gomez agreed. "We could not be a more gracious host."

"But you know Thing and his pranks." They said in unison before laughing at their pet's shenanigans.

They ate in a comforable silence for a while.

"Gomez, darling, how was your swamp scouting?" Morticia asked moments later. She folded her hands on her lap, a sign that she was done eating. She was yet to clear her plate, but then again, she never does.

He made a face before answering. "Dismal, cara. And not in a good way."

"Why? What happened?" she asked leaning forward in rapt attention.

"They drained the swamp," he replied sadly. Gomez is a man who hates waste of food, unless it was cereals or cakes or hotdogs. So, despite his disappointment, he pulled Morticia's plate towards him and started to take her leftovers like he usually does.

"Oh, but why?" she exclaimed.

He shrugged. "Something about building a mall inside a business district or whatever."

"A mall?!" Morticia shook her head in disgust. "Don't they have enough of those already?"

"A lot of people do not appreciate nature like we used to..." he commented with a sad sigh.

"Do not worry, my love, you will find other swamps," she assured him as she placed a consoling hand over his.

He smiled and looked a little chipper. "You always know the right words to say, cara mia."

She just smiled in reply before asking him for the time.

"Alas, our hour has passed. I shall return you to your students," he said, standing up and offering a hand. She took it and gracefully followed suit.

"I can manage, darling," Morticia assured her husband. "You still have to go downtown for your zen yogi class."

"Ah, yes, indeed. Thank you for reminding me, Tish." He kissed her hand. "As usual, Lurch will pick you up for home. I shall see you tonight, cara mia."


	2. CHAPTER TWO

There was a soft knock on his office door, making Gomez distractedly look up from his stocks monitoring.

Morticia was standing on the doorway, waiting for permission to interrupt her husband.

"Cara mia, you know you do not need to knock," he said by way of greeting. He dropped the ticker tape to bring his full attention to Morticia. "Anything I can help you with?"

"Oh, nothing, darling," she replied, not taking a step inside the office, obviously keen to leave the moment their conversation concludes.

She watched him take a cigar from his breast pocket and with a single huff on it, the tobacco stick lit up. He took a long draft before returning his attention back to her, waiting expectantly.

"I just wanted to let you know that will be going out," she explained if a bit sheepishly. The task was so mundane, she realized that she need not to tell him nor was she intending to ask for permission.

He frowned upon her statement. "Now? It's Sunday, Tish," he said by way of explanation.

Inwardly, Morticia had to agree with her husband. Sundays are mostly reserved for some peace and quiet. A chance to recover from the week's misadventures and an attempt to prepare for the new week to arrive.

On Sundays, the whole family often opts to stay inside the mansion, away from the hustle and bustle they usually found themselves in -- what with Pubert's school, Gomez's zen yogi class, Morticia's coven training, and Mama and Lurch preparing for their needs.

Unlike most families who spend their Sundays out for family day, the Addamses do theirs on Saturdays so that the last day of the week will solely be for relaxation.

But this Sunday is different. Both Wednesday and Pugsley are coming home from college.

This would be Pugsley's first time to return since he started studying Clinical Anatomy as his pre-medicine course. Before college, he excelled in Biology and knows more about the human body than his teachers. While becoming a doctor did not appeal to him at first, Pugsley realized that embalming is a special profession that he wanted to give it the respect it deserves by becoming a doctor first then an embalmer.

For Wednesday, though, she is already in her second year away from home to study the Dark Arts abroad, specifically in Transylvania. While Morticia is knowledgeable about this field of study and offered to tutor her daughter, Wednesday declined and insisted that she would rather learn from the origin of the art itself and where her mother learned it all.

"Indeed. But Wednesday and Pugsley are coming home today," she reminded her husband.

"Ah, yes," Gomez nodded in understanding. "Could I be of assistance?"

Morticia shook her head. "I can manage, darling," she replied before pointing to the mess that practically covered Gomez's office desk. "Besides, you are too busy to be bothered."

He looked to where she was pointing and could not help but laugh at her assessment.

"Too true, cara mia," he agreed with a smile. "Where will you be going?"

"I wanted to cook for Wednesday and Pugsley for their homecoming party tonight," she replied thoughtfully. "Nothing fancy as to not anger our daughter. But perhaps their favorite food. Surely they have missed monkey brain stew with black jalapeños and shark-and-tortoise innards kebab."

Gomez smacked his lips in appreciation. "Just the thought of it hungers me, Tish!" He paused. "Is Mama accompanying you?"

"Oh, no," she shook her head slighlty. "Mama and Lurch are busy dirtying the kids' room. They've been gone for so long, the sheets nmand curtain need dusting."

Something changed in Gomez's face but Morticia could not put her finger in it. She inquired with just her eyes, frown brought about by concern marring her forehead.

"Will you be alright on your own?" he asked to answer her unvoiced question. He left his desk and crossed the room towards her.

She blinked a few times, confused. "Of course, darling, why won't I be? Casey's shop is just a few miles away from downtown, an hour drive or so."

"But who will drive you there?" he asked in a shocked voice. "Perhaps I come with you --"

"There is no need to drop everything for me, Gomez, darling," she interrupted his musings. She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow as if to remind him. "I do know how to drive."

Morticia spoke with such finality that he decided against commenting.

"Just be home safely." He finally said.

Her brows creased once again. This time, she reached out her hand to place it on is forehead, feeling him. "Safely? Are you ill, Gomez?"

He chuckled. He took her hand and held it close to his chest. "Promise me, cara mia."

"Nothing will happen to me," she assured him.

Placated, Gomez nodded finally. He let go of her hand and she made a move to go, but with an unexpected surge of seemingly unfamiliar emotion, he suddenly pulled her deliciously close to him. He snaked his one hand on her waist, resting at the small of her back, while his other hand held her nape not so tightly, titling her head back.

His hazel eyes searched deep within her black ones. There was a look of longing and hunger and passion and pleading all rolled into one that Morticia could not help but gasp. Somehow, this felt familiar; like a long lost family member knocking at one's doorstep, but more personal. More like something shared just between the two of them. It awakened emotions inside her that have been dormant for years.

She initiated and leaned even closer to him, lifting her lips to his.

Brought by what felt like some memory from his past life, Gomez's body lit up from within. He held his wife steady as he deepen their kiss, letting his tongue dance with hers, re-exploring what was somehow forgotten over time.

Morticia slipped her hands through his pomaded hair, scratching his scalp and tugging on his hair hard. A low growl came out from his throat and if it was humanly possible, he pressed her closer to his body, afraid to let go.

Time froze as they kissed. Gomez's stocks monitoring all forgotten, Morticia's plan seeping down the drain, as the fire of their passion get fuelled by the second.

Vaguely, she felt his hand on her neck slide down to the zipper of her dress, while she absently started unbuttoning his waistcoat.

As sudden as it started, the loud gong of Lurch's bell shook the whole house, harshly bringing the impassioned couple back to reality.

They let go of each other, both with a look of surprise on their reddened and out of breath faces.

She stared at him, embarrassed for some reason.

"I'm sorry, Tish," he said, mirroring her unwarranted sense of humiliation. He walked behind her to zip her dress back up after it practically showed the whole of her naked back.

Good God, he thought. Of all times, she decided not to wear anything underneath her dress.

Without much further ado, he retreated to his desk and back to his stocks with a cigar stuck in between his teeth. But his mind was not fully in it. His thoughts kept wandering to her soft lips, how their tongues explored their mouths like some map with a treasure waiting, how each of her curves felt like home, and how much he wanted to run his hand on every inch of her skin.

Has it always been like that? He wondered.

Gomez swiveled his chair around, hoping to see a glimpse of Morticia but she has already glided away, touching her swollen lips and imagining them doing more than just kiss his.

Morticia loves driving maniacally and in the rare times she does hold the steering wheel, she does her best to treat the car as if she was in a rollercoaster. But while she drives haphazardly, she knew how dangerous it is to drive without paying attention to the road, not only for her but for the pedestrians and fellow motorists.

Yet now, even while driving at a slow pace of 100 kilometers per hour, she could not focus one bit. Her mind keeps rewinding the sudden burst of lust between her and Gomez, how it felt so right and how she wanted to jump on him the moment they meet again.

Who is she kidding? Morticia knew she wanted to abandon all plans of welcoming her children home. She wanted everyone to just go away and leave the two of them alone. Even with everybody present, she would gladly drag her husband to the nearest dark corner and demand to be ravished.

But while she was his wife, she made it a priority to be a mother first and foremost. That was why it took her almost double than the usual time to arrive at Casey Parkinson's secluded exotic meat shop in the woods.

It was hard to focus on the task of purchasing all the raw ingredients she needed for the stew and kebab. Good thing Casey has been a close friend for years that she supplied Morticia with the right animal parts.

"Are you alright, Mrs. Addams?" Casey asked in concern as Morticia practically floated around the shop, fumbling inside her purse for her wallet, only to realize that she has no wallet to begin with.

"Yes, yes, fine," she replied distractedly, although quite embarrassed as she slipped onto the counter her credit card.

At least typing in the passcode for the card did not require much effort on her part. It was hard to forget, given that the numbers were equivalent to the date she and Gomez got married.

She was already some few hundred yards away from the shop when she saw on the rearview mirror of the green Packard the figure of Casey trying to catch up with her, carrying what she bought -- she left the goods in the store, for crying out loud!

"Oh, I am so sorry, Casey," she said as she took the grocery from her and unceremoniously hauled it inside the car.

"No worries, Mrs. Addams," Casey replied kindly, although she was wheezing from running with all the meat dangling on her hands. She leaned at the side of the vehicle to catch her breath. "Are you sure you can manage? It's getting dark already and you seem... preoccupied."

Morticia did her best to forget, even for just a while, about those strong hands of her husband enveloping her in the confines of their room.

She remembered the promise she made just before that fateful kiss -- how she would return safely to him tonight.

"Yes, I am certain," she answered. Her eyes are now focused, her head clear. Or at least her lascivious thoughts pushed back and locked in the vault of her mind.

She smiled and climbed back inside the Packard, made sure that Casey was returning to her shop, before putting the gear back to drive.

Things got more dangerous and more exciting for Morticia when lightning cracked followed by the clapping of thunder and a downpour of rain

This night couldn't get any worse, she mused happily. Nothing beats driving precariously in the slick road and heavy rainfall.

Everything could have gone smoothly if it was not for some hideous trick of fate that cleanly slashed a tree on the side of the road after being hit by a lighting bolt.

With her too fast of a speed and the slippery road, Morticia hit the fallen tree with so much force that she was thrown forward inside the car, the windshield cracking but not breaking. The Packard turnturtled and spun around until it hit a boulder, throwing Morticia yet again inside it.

She lie unconscious across the front seat in an akward angle because of the stick shift and the hand break, and blood was freely flowing on the side of her head.

At the same time, gasoline was leaking out of the car and the electric line which the fallen tree pulled, was sparking dangerously close to the pool of fuel.


	3. CHAPTER THREE

Even during the flight home from Transylvania, Wednesday could not help but review her notes on Practice of the Dark Arts. Her whole academic life, she was forced to study subjects that hardly mattered in real life, with the exceptions of history and science; so now that she is in college and studying the craft closes to her heart, Wednesday could not stop her growing obsession. If only her parents allowed her to study in Salem, she could have been a better student.

She was hunched on her seat with her nose buried inside her notebook, completely ignoring her boyfriend Joel who was fidgeting beside her.

"Please, Wednesday, do not set this plane on fire," he pleaded, clutching the armrest for dear life as they take off from the runway.

"Do not be overdramatic. I am not studying pyrokinesis." Then she added with a wicked smile, "I'm trying to control the weather. Turbulence would definitely make this trip interesting."

Joel whimpered and resumed his uncontrollable fidgeting.

It was not until he stepped on her foot for the sixth time that Wednesday snapped her notebook shut and turned to face him, her face in its usual deadpan but her eyes murderous.

"What is wrong with you?" she finally asked in a whisper so quiet and deadly that Joel immediately stopped jiggling his legs. His hands also stilled from drumming the armrest of his seat.

He looked at her with a pained expression. "Are you not nervous about coming home?"

Not a single reaction crossed her pale face, not even a muscle budged as she stared back at him. Sometimes she wonders how she could have fallen in love with such a clueless man. Wednesday Addams is truly the epitome of what they call 'the resting bitch face.'

"Why would I be nervous?" she asked monotonously. "I am coming home, to my family."

"Yes, I know," he almost whined. He could not believe how obtuse Wednesday could be. "But I am with you."

She raised an eyebrow at him before reopening her notebook and going back to her reading. "So?" she finally asked.

"Your father does not like me," he answered. The mere thought of seeing Gomez Addams again after almost a full year rattled Joel again. Unconsciously, he started fidgeting with his tie.

"Oh, he likes you plenty," she replied, not looking up from her book. Joel was about to breath a sigh of relief when Wednesday flipped a page and nonchalantly continued, "He just not prefer to see you with me."

"Wednesday!" He definitely could not help but whine. They were already airborne that he unlatched the seatbelt from his waist and turned to face her directly. "Maybe I should not come with you after all. I think this is a bad idea."

She rolled her eyes in exasperation but still did not look up from her reading. "Joel, dating me has been a bad idea since Camp Chippewa. And don't you dare chicken out, Mother will kill you."

"But if I come, Mr. Addams will."

"Choose your murderer."

"Wednesday, you're hopeless!"

"Am I?" she asked testily which immediately pacified him. Her tone warned him that he was very close to pulling the ultimate Wednesday move and he would rather not witness it on board an airborne plane with God knows how many passengers.

Her temper was not close to the brink as during that dreadful summer camp, but it was like lighting the wick of a dynamite.

He swallowed.

"We had this similar conversation last year when we went home, and the year before that when you forcibly took me to the school prom, and the year before that when you told my parents that you wanted to date me." She side eyed him. "I don't think it could get any worse than that."

Joel had to agree with Wednesday on this one. Mr. Addams had definitely lost his marbles when he came to their doorstep asking for permission to take his daughter out. He did not know he could run that fast given his asthma. But then again, anyone being threatened by a sword in one hand and a pistol on the other proably could as well.

Seeing that their discussion finally has come to an end, Wednesday returned to her notes. "Do not forget to remind your parents that Mother and Father would be very much delighted to have them over."

He snorted.

Scared was too mild of a word to describe how her parents feel about the Addams family.

Unlike her sister, Pugsley opted to stay in mainland USA for college. Although while he was accepted in Harvard Medical School that is just a five-hour train ride from home, he chose to attend in Stanford Medical School on the other side of the continent, to the family's horror.

At first, he thought her parents were just overreacting about his choice. But the moment he stepped on California, he understood their hesitation -- the sun was consistently out, the weather was too warm for his liking, and the only place he found solace in is in his dorm room that is nice and gloomy.

Unfortunately, his dorm was on the other side of the campus which meant that either he does not attend his classes or he suck it all up and walk under the searing heat of the sun.

From the moment he arrived at that blasted state, he was decided to transfer to Harvard. So, despite all his body's hesitations toward the light and heat, he came to all his classes and distracted himself with studying.

These past few weeks before the much awaited summer break -- the beach for most but the comfort of home for him -- Pugsley processed all the documents he needs for the transfer. He has excellent grades so he was certain that Harvard will not decline his request.

To say that he did not enjoy his year of stay at Stanford would be a great lie. He miraculously made a few friends, some of whom agree with his sentiments about the heat and have also decided to transfer to Harvard. At the very least, he was comforted by the thought that we won't be alone in starting over again at the new school in the fall.

He was also sure that his mother would be very pleased to have him study so near. This means they could visit him at any time without much of a hassle as riding an airplane because most airlines decline Lurch and insist on having Cousin Itt in the cargo hold together with pets.

Pugsley smiled at the prospect. He missed the whole family, especially his little brother, Pubert.

Despite how their relationship started when Pubert was born, they grew a bond very different with what he had with Wednesday. With his older sister, it was always her domineering him, threatening him his imminent death, which he undeniably enjoyed. But with little Pubert, Pugsley felt more responsible and protected the boy. He taught him how to blow things up, which did not interest Wednesday much, who preferred more sleuth ways to destroy.

As the plane started to lose altitude, he looked at the pocketwatch gifted by his father when he graduated from highschool -- they did not expect him to finish at all -- and saw that he will just arrive on time. He timed his flight to match Wednesday and Joel's because God knows how impatient he gets while waiting.

Not too soon, the wheels of the plane roughly landed on the runway and he could not hide his excitement.

It was already dark; Lurch has been gone for a few hours already to fetch Wednesday and Pugsley at the airport and are surely on their way home, yet Morticia still has not returned.

For the most part of the afternoon, Gomez could not help but go back to that unintended burst of fiery passion between him and his wife.

He was pacing their bedroom, unsure of what to do with himself.

It has been, what, months? No, years, since they shared such kiss. Gomez reminisced. Has it always been like that? How could he let go of her just like that? What happened between the two of them? Have they lost their love? Surely not.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair where Morticia's hands feasted in just several hours earlier.

Where is she? He thought. Did she run away? What, just because of the kiss? Hell, they are married after all.

Married. Gomez repeated inside his head.

They have been married for almost 25 years. Was that it? Have they've been married for so long they lost contact to their libido?

He looked at the bed they shared for most of their marriage. She and him only left that bed when they are out of town, honeymooning. Even after some wild exertions at the dungeon, the library, the kitchen, and all over the house, they still retreat at the confines of their bedroom, where they have the most privacy. Where they would never fear discovery nor would any member of the family attempt to come into without repeatedly banging at the door first.

No. Gomez shook his head and resumed with his pacing. They could not have lost their desire for each other. The kiss earlier just proved it. No, he won't accept that.

He looked again at the bed, this time longer, letting his memory of the recent years flash before his eyes -- them snuggling next to each other, them talking, them too tired to talk but just lying on their side and watching the other, them letting the night pass without much as a touch or a kiss, him waking up before her and leaving her peacefully asleep, her coming to bed late after having to finish the young witches' syllabus.

Then it clicked to him.

It was not a loss of love, nor was it a loss of passion, at least not yet completely. It was the comfort after a long, tiring day at work.

These past years they have both started doing day jobs which require too much of their energies, that at night, they'd rather go to sleep than spend the remaining of their vigor in throes of passion.

Gomez could not help but feel bad about it. After all, during their wedding he vowed to keep her miserably happy and content. Yet with just 25 years of marriage, he already failed.

With his head hanging low, Gomez sat on their bed and he ran a hand over the side where she usually sleeps.

"This cannot go on forever," he whispered and his mind was set. He has to rectify the situation before it's too late. If only Morticia would be home soon.

"Pugsley's here! Wednesday's here!" Pubert's voice rang excitedly the moment his older siblings arrived.

"Wednesday and Pugsley're here!" he shouted again to make sure that their arrival will not go amiss.

Much like his father, he impatiently waited until every member of the family gathered at the hall to welcome the older children. He shifted from foot to foot as he watched his Uncle Fester and his wife Dementia emerged from down the hall; he tapped his foot on the floor while waiting for the small shuffling of Grandmama from the kitchen; and he was practically jumping in excitement as Thing slid down from the staircase balustrade.

When Gomez has not arrived, Pubert took a deep breath before bellowing, "FATHER! MOTHER! WEDNESDAY AND PUGSLEY ARE -- !"

He immediately stopped upon seeing his father's arrival from upstairs, his hands up in complete surrender and a small smile on his lips.

"Your mother is not yet home," Gomez said. A brief frown crossed his face but he immediately regained composure so as not to worry anybody else -- he was already too worried and he did not want the rest of the family to be, too.

Wednesday frowned upon her father as he leaned in an kissed her on the forehead. But her immediate thoughts were brushed aside as felt Joel's uncontrollable shaking from just behind her.

"Mi -- Mr. Addams," he squeaked. He held out a quivering hand for the older man whose eyes narrowed upon seeing him.

Gomez opened his mouth to give out a snide comment but after a side glance at Wednesday, silently pleading for some leniency, decided not to. Instead, he took Joel's proffered hand and shook it, but not without a dangerous and painful squeeze.

"Joel," he acknowledged with a slight nod before turning to his oldest son with a big grin on his face. "Pugsley, my boy!"

Pugsley enveloped him in a bear hug, his face mirroring his father's.

"Where is Mother, though?" He asked Wednesday's unvoiced query.

The rest of thr family busied themselves with greeting and hugging, or in Lurch's case, bringing in his young maters' luggages.

"Oh, she went to the market," Gomez answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

Wednesday's eyes narrowed.

"Mother? At the market?" she asked. She scoot down, opened her bag, and took out an ill-wrapped packaged. She dangled it playfully in front of Pubert.

"Woaaaah!" he cried and madly grabbed the parcel from her hand.

"She wanted to cook something for your return," Gomez replied.

"Kebab?" Pugsley excitedly asked. He handed Grandmama a woven basket.

She looked inside it and broke into a murderous grin.

"You, Pugsley know just how to spoil your grandmother!"

He winked at her.

"Yes son," Gomez replied. Then raised his voice for Wednesday to hear, "And stew."

She glanced at him, eyes sparkling.

She approached her father and handed him a box of cigars. "Transylvanian tobacco." She gave him another box, this time, unmarked. "For Mother."

He shook his head. "Why don't you give it to her, instead? I'm sure she will be home in a moment." He turned to Pugsley who also handed him a box of cigars and on top, a small beaded bag for Morticia. "You know your mother, she cannot resist seeing all her children home, albeit in one piece."

Gomez clapped Joel at the back, while at the same time nodding at Lurch.

"Go settle in your rooms in the meantime while we wait for your mother," he said with a manic glint in his eyes. "Joel and I on the other hand will just have a little chat."

Wednesday's eyes flashed in alarm to which Gomez laughed at.

"A joke, paloma," he conceded. Joel though, did not look convinced. "Just a game of chess in the parlor, yes?"

Joel nodded meekly, knowing that he had no choice but to agree. And before Wednesday could protest, Gomez dragged him away.

It has been hours since the new arrivals, yet their matriarch was still MIA.

Gomez could not help but worry. His anxiety was palpable that Joel excused himself, bringing Pubert with him.

Dinner time was long gone but no one seemed hungry enough, even to eat the lizard biscuits Wednesday brought from Transylvania.

"Father, you don't believe Mother could be in danger, could she?" Wednesday finally asked after being sick of seeing her father pace the room for what felt like the hundredth time.

But Gomez appeared to not have heard her.

He again crossed the room and lifted the curtains to see if the Packard had already returned.

It was already dark outside and still not signs of their car, nor the woman he kissed so passionately just several hours earlier.

He let go of the curtains in frustration.

"I'll retrace her steps," he announced after a full minute of sitting down on his and Morticia's love chair. He now just realized that they have not sat on this chair for quite some time already. Gomez wondered whether she would still grace him with her presence. He pushed the thought aside, how could he think so morbidly?

"We're coming," Pugsley and Wednesday said in unison.

"Us, too," Fester seconded, pointing to him and Dementia. He felt bad for his brother, Gomez has not been this distraught over something and the least he could do is to help him find his wife.

Fester knew things were different now between Morticia and Gomez, but still he knew how his little brother could not live without her by his side.

"There is good in numbers," Dementia added.

Gomez just nodded. "Will you please stay with Pubert, Mama?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"Of course," the elderly woman replied. Without any further ado, she rise from her wicker chair and left the room to find the youngest Addams.

"Joel will keep him distracted," Wednesday assured to which her father merely nodded at again.

"Drive?" Lurch growled, also willing to help, but Gomez was already out of the door. Wednesday, Fester, and Dementia followed him.

On his way out, Pugsley touched Lurch on the arm.

"Please stay here," he said, appreciating his volunteerism. He also addressed Thing who jumped on Lurch's shoulder. "Mother might need assistance when she comes home before us."

"Pugsley, come on," Wednesday called out.

With a tight smile, Pugsley was out of the door.

Lurch nodded and he and Thing watched from the window the retreating figures of the family they served for most of their lives inside the Duesenberg, on their way to look for Morticia.

In silence, he prayed for his mistress's safe return.

They did not have to drive far from the forest perimeter.

Not a mile away from the outskirts of the secluded area going to Casey's was the green Packard. Or at least what was left from it after burning.

Gomez's heart stopped as sudden as the halt of the Duesenberg.

"No..." Wednesday whispered.

Like zombies, they each alighted off the car to inspect the wreckage.

No one would dare admit it out loud, but they all knew that no one could survive in that crash.

She felt a searing pain in her head. It might have woken her up, she does not know.

Her head feels as if her head was opened in half with some blunt axe then pieced back together by an inexperience surgeon. She tried moving her head but it was too heavy, like some turban was wrapped around it to make sure that her head won't crack open again.

She slowly opened her eyes and scanned the room she was in with it.

It was a peaceful cabin, mostly made of mismatched woods and logs. It was bare, just her bed, a wooden table with a matching chair by the curtained window on her right, and a small wooden dresser on her right. Beside it was a door with pegs on its back.

There was a single painting of a distant boat in the middle of a peaceful sea meeting a cloudless sky attached on the wall directly in front of her bed.

No other furniture, no electric appliance, not even a radio.

It was all unfamiliar to her. Come to think of it, everything in her mind was an incoherent mess.

Three knocks interrupted her confused musings. It slowly opened and a handsome bearded man peeked inside.

Despite not knowing who he was, she did not have the energy to feel alarmed and perhaps scamper away. She just stared at him inquiringly.

The man smiled at her and proceeded inside. He was tall and beefy but despite his size, his twinkling eyes assured her that he is a kind man.

He was carrying a tray of food, a glass of juice, and a glass of sparkling water. He placed it down the table and sat on the chair, facing her.

"Hello," the man greeted. "It's good to see you awake already."

"Have I been out for a long time?" Her voice was low and hoarse and for some peculiar reason, the sound of it surprised her, like it was the first time she heard it.

"Several hours," the man replied. He approached her and carefully helped her to a sitting position, stuffing her back with pillows.

Although he was doing his best not to shake her too much because of her injury, she still felt that any small movement was too much for her head. She winced visibly.

"I'm sorry," the man said as he handed her the glass of water. He watched her take a sip. "I am Christopher Balk, by the way. You don't have any ID with you when I found you."

"I'm..." she began but could not continue. She frowned.

She just realized that she does not know who she is.


End file.
